In my essay “Remembrance,” I discovered my own grief for a recently deceased long-time patient while continuing to care for her widowed husband. John Jacobson’s piece “Now and Then” (Fall 2018 Intima) brought me deep into the chasm of a different type of grief, from loss of someone who was, and to a more attuned place from where to offer empathy.
“Caregiver grief is different…I don’t expect this grief to ever really go way…Acceptance will be when a friend tells me about their vacation and my envy feels less sharp an I share joy like I used to.”
With heart-wrenching clarity, Jacobsen describes how his wife’s illness stole their future, and the agony it has caused. His endurance is remarkable though, and keeps him moving forward toward a place of meaning.
“Caregiving,” a poem by Brian Ascalon Roley (Fall 2019 Intima), also unmasks the caregiver’s grief, here in the context of raising a disabled child into manhood.
“It is a sad joy”
This juxtaposition captures the pain of seeing human growth and development take a cruel turn, while exacting a brutal emotional and physical toll on the parents. I am left wondering how I might ever share grief, of a nature described in these works, with a patient, or if I have looked carefully enough for it.
Jeffrey Millstein, MD is a general internist and writer. Dr. Millstein serves as associate medical director for patient Experience at Regional Practices of Penn Medicine, where he leads initiatives for clinicians and staff to help improve patient centered communication skills. He is a clinical preceptor for students at the Perelman School of Medicine at the University of Pennsylvania, and is working on developing new humanities curricula for medical students. You can find him on Twitter @millstej.
©2020 Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine